


it's a feeling that you cannot miss (and it burns a hole through everyone that feels it)

by bisexualfpjones



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Coming Out, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Recreational Drug Use, Riverparents, parentdale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23207203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualfpjones/pseuds/bisexualfpjones
Summary: FP stops when the mystery object in the jacket is revealed: a ziplock baggie of what is most definitely enough weed to last a week. “Ho-ly shit,” FP says, eyes lighting up and a grin breaking out on his face as he holds the bag up between himself and Mary.“Oh, there is no way,” Mary laughs, a little disbelieving, as she checks for herself that what she’s looking at is real.FP opens up the bag, takes a whiff. It’s not as strong as it could be - it’s definitely been sitting in here for a while - but it’ll do. It’ll definitely fucking do. “Thanks for looking out for us, Freddie."
Relationships: Mary Andrews & FP Jones II
Comments: 9
Kudos: 21





	it's a feeling that you cannot miss (and it burns a hole through everyone that feels it)

**Author's Note:**

> ras said "marys gay" and i said "she's not the only one, bitch!" this is one part steve and robin bathroom scene from stranger things, one part that one episode of roseanne (you will know the one when you read... unless youve never seen roseanne. in that case, you will not know)
> 
> title from blue & yellow by the used

“The hell are you doing, Mare?” FP asks on a laugh. He had come out to check the mail, caught his neighbor struggling with a stack of boxes taller than she was instead. He rushes over before she gets caught in an avalanche of cardboard, grabs two boxes so her face is at least visible now.

“Just getting a headstart on the Spring cleaning,” Mary responds. She blows a lock of hair out of her eyes, tosses her head to the side so it’ll stay in place.

Leading the way to her car, she stuffs what she can in the trunk, fitting the rest goes in the backseat. FP takes note of the boxes and trashbags already stowed away. “Helluva lotta stuff you’re getting rid of. Sure the house isn’t going, too?”

It’s meant to be a joke, Mary knows, but she _also_ knows the underlying question. The one FP’s too afraid to ask. But for better or worse, Mary’s always been a straight shooter. 

“It’s the rest of Fred’s things.” FP’s head snaps up, and Mary has to give him credit. She can see the effort he’s making to keep his expression neutral, unphased. Even if his eyes are screaming something different. “Not all of it. Just- the rest of his clothes. Stuff from the attic I’m sure he was meaning to get around to eventually.” Mary’s mouth twitches into a smile at that. “You know how he can never get rid of anything.”

_Can_ lingers in the air. Like Fred’s still around to get sentimental over a bunch of old junk. If it was a simple slip of the tongue or not, FP doesn’t comment, just turns his head and looks back at the car, notices for the first time a box of old, worn out flannels and henleys. 

“There’s still some stuff inside,” Mary says, breaking the silence. “I could use some help.”

FP’s got this far off look in his eyes as he rubs at the scruff on his chin, but he nods, follows Mary inside.

He can’t remember the last time he was in Fred’s bedroom. Had to have been back when the kids were still young. There’s subtle differences; a change of drapes, a heavier scent of floral than he remembers, but otherwise it’s remained the same. 

It feels colder, though. The air stagnant like it’s trapping ghosts. It’s heavy. FP’s been in here not even two minutes and he already feels the pressure weighing him down. He doesn’t know how Mary manages to live in it day in and day out.

There’s pictures in frames placed about the room (Fred’s doing, no doubt). FP keys in on one in particular placed on the nightstand, picks it up and holds it in his hands. It’s from the day Archie was born. Fred’s standing by the window, sunlight pouring over him as he holds his newborn son in his arms, eyes tired from being up all night, but smile a mile wide. 

FP was the one behind the camera. 

He runs his fingers down the glass over Fred’s face, remembering that day with perfect clarity. He remembers how excited Fred was when he had called and told him the news. Remembers the smell of the sterile hospital room. Remembers watching Mary and Fred cooing over their baby boy and thinking he’d never seen a more perfect family in his life. Remembers his heart aching for some inexplicable reason.

“There’s still some clothes left in the closet, if you want to take a look,” Mary says, effectively pulling FP out of the memory. “Archie’s already gone through and taken what he wants, so if you see anything…”

FP nods. He places the picture frame back down and makes his way to the closet, not sure if he has any real intention of actually taking anything. It feels wrong, somehow. Like he has no right to even with Mary offering. Maybe part of him still foolishly hopes Fred will come back to claim what’s his. 

There’s hardly any trace of Fred left at all in the small walk-in. Mary’s own wardrobe overwhelms the space save for a few hangers of Fred’s things waiting to be taken to charity shops, the same ones he and FP used to hunt through because FP was always strapped for cash and Fred never cared to buy anything _new_. _These clothes have character,_ Fred would used to say, and FP would smile and shake his head, pretending he had any idea what the hell that was even supposed to mean. But Fred liked it, and that was enough for him.

He pauses at a jacket - old, worn denim - and gently takes it off its hanger. The weight of it could bring FP to his knees if he’s not careful. 

He slips it over his shoulders. It’s not exactly a perfect fit - Fred had skinnier arms, narrower shoulders - but it’s comforting all the same. FP lifts the collar of the jacket to his nose, takes a deep breath in. He closes his eyes, and it’s almost like Fred’s right there with him, holding him tight like he did at FP’s birthday, which feels like a lifetime ago now. 

He should’ve asked for more hugs. He was too afraid. He regrets that now.

It’s an overwhelming realization. The thought that his days of asking anything from Fred are over. He asked for too much. He should’ve asked for more. He can feel his chest clenching at the thought, and the only thing keeping him remotely together right now is the fact that he’s not alone.

Mary’s just a few feet away, out in the bedroom. So he pulls himself together, straightening up and wiping away at any stray tears that may have fallen down his face. He shakes himself loose before stepping out of the closet, finds Mary sitting on the edge of the bed going through a pile of papers. “Well, whaddaya think?” he asks, arms spread out as he does a little turn.

Mary’s expression is fond. A soft smile plays on her lips. “It’s perfect.”

“The fit’s not exactly great, but…” FP has no real intention of ever wearing the thing, but he figures that’s a detail he can keep to himself.

“It’s perfect,” Mary repeats. “It suits you. Besides, you and Fred practically shared a wardrobe, anyway. I’ve never seen two people dress so consistently similar on accident.”

And maybe that’s true, but still FP says “When is the last time you saw me in a denim jacket? I don’t think I’ve worn one since the nineties.”

“Well, maybe you were waiting for the right one.”

FP chews on that for a second, shoving his hands into the pockets of the jacket. Immediately he touches something plastic, his face contorting in confusion as his fingers wrap around the item to pull it out.

“What’s the matter?” Mary asks, a twinge of concern in her voice as she stands up and steps towards her friend. 

“I don’t know. There’s-” FP stops when the mystery object in the jacket is revealed: a ziplock baggie of what is most definitely enough weed to last a week. “Ho-ly shit,” FP says, eyes lighting up and a grin breaking out on his face as he holds the bag up between himself and Mary. 

“Oh, there is no way,” Mary laughs, a little disbelieving, as she checks for herself that what she’s looking at is real. 

FP opens up the bag, takes a whiff. It’s not as strong as it could be - it’s definitely been sitting in here for a while - but it’ll do. It’ll definitely fucking do. “Thanks for looking out for us, Freddie,” he says, looking up at the ceiling.

“Where the hell did he even get this?”

“10 bucks says Gladys slipped it over last time she was here. She was always going on about how stressed he looked.”

Mary huffs out a laugh, shaking her head. “Leave it to Gladys.”

“This is good shit, too,” FP says. “She never hands the cheap shit over to her friends.”

“You want to?” Mary asks, one eyebrow raised and lips quirked up in an impish grin. 

FP’s eyebrows raise in mock surprise. “Mary Andrews! Never would’ve taken you for a stoner.”

“Oh, please.” She rolls her eyes. “I am hardly a stoner. But moving back to this town has made me wish I was. It was so much easier getting weed in Chicago…”

“There a bad drug problem there or something?”

“No. Well, yes, but that’s not what I mean.” Mary takes the bag out of FP’s hands, brings it up to her nose for a deep inhale and sighs. “Just didn’t have to worry about running into someone I knew there.” She looks back up at FP who’s shaking his head laughing. “Could you imagine if I got caught buying weed? Alice would have a field day!”

“When have you ever cared what Alice thought?”

“I don’t!” Mary argues. “But, pick your battles, you know?”

FP just shrugs, because he _doesn’t_ know. He’s more of a ‘fight every battle’ guy himself. “You could take her.”

Mary scoffs, but she can’t hide her smile. “Whatever. So are we doing this or what?”

FP’s eyes light up again as he bounces on his heels. “You got anything to smoke this with?”

Mary’s eyes squint as she tries to think and comes up with nothing. Since moving back to Riverdale she hadn’t bothered to buy anything to keep around because she hadn’t had any need for it. “Damn… No.”

“That’s fine.” FP shrugs. “You got an apple or something downstairs? I’m really good at-”

“We’re adults, FP,” Mary cuts in. “We are not smoking out of an apple bong.”

“Hey! Don’t knock the apple bong!” FP points a finger at her. “It’s both a tool and a snack.”

“That’s disgusting.”

FP ignores her, slipping by to head out of the master bedroom. “Red’s probably got something hidden in his room. Just give me a sec.”

“My son does not smoke pot, FP!” Mary sounds almost offended as she trails behind to Archie’s room.

The laugh FP lets out is boisterous, like Mary’s just told the funniest joke in the world. “Yeah, okay, Mare. Neither do I.”

Mary grabs his arm, spinning him around so they’re face to face. He may have four inches on her, but Mary’s always had a way of carrying herself like she’s the biggest in the room, a force to be reckoned with. “Do you know something I don’t?”

FP’s eyebrows shoot up in a look of pure amusement. “Look at you ready to rip Red a new one over doing the exact same thing you’re about to. Tsk tsk, Mary. I didn’t take you for one of those hypocritical parents.”

“Bite me, FP. Do you know something or not?”

“I know he’s a teenage boy whose life is a mess. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure this one out.” FP pulls out of Mary’s grip and heads for the dresser besides Archie’s bed.

“Not everyone’s _you_ , FP.” Mary crosses her arms, defiantly staying in place while FP rummages around in her son’s things. She hates to admit it, but she’s not ignorant to the similarities between the two. It scares her, if she’s honest. FP may be her friend, but even he could admit he’s not exactly a shining example to look up to.

Mary’s brought out of her thoughts when FP lets out a triumphant “Aha!” as he turns to face her, holding a blue pipe in the air. “Told you so.”

“Oh I am going to kick his ass!” Mary says, eyes going wide as she moves forward to swipe the little glass tool. 

“Well isn’t that the pothead calling the kettle black.”

“Stop calling me that!” Mary slaps FP’s chest, but they’re both laughing. “Let’s just hurry up and do this before Archie comes home, yeah?”

\--

They wind up in the tub of the master bathroom. Mary’s sat upright with her legs dangling over the edge while FP’s head rests in her lap, his legs stretched out to prop his feet on the wall. Neither of them have said much in the past ten or so minutes. A comfortable silence has befallen them as Mary rakes her nails softly through her friend’s hair, lulling him almost to sleep.

“How do you get your hair so soft?” she asks, a calm caidence to her voice.

FP shrugs, not even bothering to open his eyes. “I only wash it, like, once a month.”

Mary’s nose scrunches up. “That’s gross.” She doesn’t stop playing with his hair, though. “Are you feeling anything? I’m not feeling anything. I think this weed is detective. Deflective. De- shit.” 

The pair burst into a fit of giggles. 

“You were saying?” FP’s eyes finally open when Mary playfully shoves his face to the side.

“Leave me alone, Jones.”

FP rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything. A beat passes before he speaks up again. “How come you never partied with us like this in high school?”

Mary’s eyes dance around their surroundings like she’s missing out on whatever FP’s seeing. “Oh yeah, this is really living it up.”

“You know what I mean,” FP says. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Mare, but you kinda had a stick up your ass back then. Ow!” Even stoned Mary can still pack a punch. FP reaches up to rub at his shoulder where she landed the blow.

“I partied! You just don’t remember because _you_ ,” she jabs his tender shoulder to emphasize her point, “were partying _too hard_. Besides, somebody had to babysit yours and Fred’s asses.”

FP laughs. “Freddie was a lightweight. Didn’t take much to get him going.”

“Especially when you were there egging him on. You two were a nightmare together; drunk or sober.”

“Yeah…” FP sighs, a prideful smile spread across his face. “We had fun.”

They’re fond memories - most of them. There’s plenty of bad ones, too. Nights that are entirely blacked out and all the remains are the memories of particularly nasty hangovers. Nights that ended with Fred dragging him back to his place and putting him to bed because FP going home wasn’t an option.

He’d rather think about the other times. The _good_ times. The nights where he and Fred felt invincible, like the world was theirs for the taking. The nights where they danced closer together than they ever would dared have sober. The nights where they ended up treading water under the moonlight, half naked with the tingle of static electricity in the air between them, making the moment heavier and lighter than it had any right to be. Always making FP feel brave, but never brave enough. 

He tries to brush those thoughts away, too, as he pulls Fred’s jacket tighter around him, hugging himself while he tries not to succumb to the existential introspection marijuana usually sends him on.

There’s a buzz coming from somewhere in the back of his head. A soft hum tickling his scalp that he can’t place. “Are you vibrating?”

“You feel that, too?” Mary whisper shouts like she’s afraid someone’ll hear her. Her thigh feels tingly.

FP sits up, slowly spinning around so he’s leaning back next to Mary’s legs. He starts poking at her thigh like it’s supposed to accomplish something. 

Mary doesn’t even seem to care. She’s staring down at his jabbing finger when she starts to zone out, eyes glazing over a bit like she’s just drifted off into somewhere nice. But just as quickly as she seemed to slip off into her own head, she startles. “My phone!” Swatting FP’s hand away, she reaches into her pocket to pull out her cell. “Oh no,” she whines, reading the name on the screen.

“What is it?” FP asks, or tries to. Mary’s waving her hand in his face telling him to shush before answering the call.

It’s kind of funny, actually, the way Mary swipes her bangs out of her eyes and tries making herself presentable for a _phone call_. She’s like a kid trying not to get caught by her mom doing something she wasn’t supposed to.

“Brooke! Hi!” Her voice is too high, nowhere anywhere near natural and _way_ too obvious that she’s trying to cover up something. FP doesn’t know who this Brooke person is to get this reaction out of Mary, but for lawyer she sure is pretty shit at lying. 

Maybe it’s the drugs.

It’s a basic enough conversation, nothing really for FP to pay attention to other than Mary’s ridiculous behavior and a few insistings of _“I’m fine”_. He’s zoning out a little, playing with a rip in his jeans when he hears _“Okay. Love you, too, pookie.”_ And _that_? _That_ gets his attention.

“ _Pookie?_ ”

Mary blushes, which FP wasn’t expecting. A punch or slap or kick, sure, but not a blush.

“I guess now’s a good a time as any to tell you.” Mary pauses, takes a breath. FP thinks she only looks a little nervous. “I, um, I have a girlfriend.”

“Oh.” It’s all FP can manage to get out. His brain feels like it’s short circuiting or something. “I didn’t know that you had a- That you were-”

“Gay?”

FP nods.

“Bi, technically. That’s not a problem, is it?” Mary’s somewhere between defensive and scared, like she’s ready to chew FP’s head off for saying the wrong thing, but hoping it doesn’t come to that. 

FP quickly shakes his head. “No! No, no. That’s totally cool. It’s just-” It’s just- Mary’s the only person his age he knows is _gay_. Well, that’s not entirely true. There was the matter of Marcus Mason last year. And if FP was being honest with himself, there were too many things about Marcus’ story that resonated with his own. The shame and pain and resentment that he’s spent his whole life trying to drown, trying to _ignore_. But here’s Mary. The same, but so totally different. There’s a spark of something like hope in FP’s chest, but it’s not enough to make him feel any better.

“FP…” Mary says, voice soft as she calls his attention forward. “Penny for your thoughts?”

He’s been focusing on that hole in his jeans, too afraid to look up. It feels safer somehow. “How did you, um. How did you know?”

“What? That I liked girls?” FP nods, still won’t make eye contact. Mary takes a breath. “Well, college helped me figure some things out. But if I’m honest, I think I had an inkling before that. Being away at school just… made me confront it, I guess. Funny enough it was Brooke, actually.” FP glances up then, catching Mary smiling fondly. “We were roommates and it kind of just… happened.”

“So you were friends first.”

“Yeah.”

“So how did you know what the difference was?”

Mary opens her mouth to say something, but quickly closes it. The question catches her off guard. It’s not an easy answer, not one she has at the ready. And she can tell for whatever reason this is important to FP, so she wants to be careful. “We started spending all our time together outside of the dorm. Any free time we had we just, wanted to be near each other. And when we weren’t together I was still thinking about her, you know? Couldn’t wait to catch up later and talk about our days and laugh about something stupid one of our professors said. Tell her about a new song I heard on the radio… just, little things.”

“And that was it?” FP asks, not sounding totally convinced.

Mary cheeks tint a little pinker as she looks down at her lap. “No. We also kind of fell in the habit of sharing the same bed. We said it was because it was easier to have late night girl-chats, but we both knew that was a lie.” There’s a pause, Mary chewing over what she wants to say next. _How_ she wants to say it, to really get her point across. “I wanted to be close to her, in every way possible. I felt whole when I was with her. The most myself I think I ever had at that point. It just… made sense.”

FP takes that in, bounces the idea around in his head. “But you still ended up back here. With Fred.”

Mary shrugs. “He made me feel whole, too.”

“Until he didn’t.” It’s not him being judgey. FP gets it, maybe more than anyone else could. He’s just trying to piece the puzzle together. Mary looks a little guilty, won’t meet his eyes, but she nods anyway. “Was it because of-”

“Brooke?” Mary does look up at him then, eyes portraying every bit of adamance she feels. “No. It was never about that. I loved Fred. I was _in love_ with Fred. Things just… got complicated at the end. For a lot of reasons. But that wasn’t one of them.”

FP’s no stranger to complicated. He knows enough of what happened. Fred’s side, anyway. Mary’s entitled to hers. It’s not really a wound FP cares to open up right now, thinks maybe he’s already asked enough. “Well, you seem happy, for what it’s worth.”

Mary smiles. “It’s worth a lot.”

She wishes she could say the same for him. That he seems happy. But ever since he began his line of questioning he’s had this look in his eyes that feels familiar, yet she can’t quite place it. Maybe it’s just the drugs, but it feels different. Like the cogs were turning in his head. And he seemed way too invested in what she had to say for him to simply be playing the supportive friend role. She knew him better than that. 

She nudges him with her leg, getting his attention when he’s off staring at the wall. “Your turn.”

“What’s my turn?” He asks, confusion coloring his features.

“Your turn to spill what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours.”

FP huffs out a laugh, rolling his eyes a little as he rubs the palms of his hands up and down his denim-clad thighs. “It’s stupid. I don’t-”

“FP,” Mary says, ducking her head down a little to meet his gaze. “If there’s ever a time to talk about something stupid, it’s sitting in a bathtub high off your ass.” She puts on an encouraging smile, her eyebrows jutting up to hammer home the sentiment.

He should probably take his chance now, while everything is dulled down and he’s not feeling any of the anxiety he knows he would be if he was sober. Not as bad, anyway. It’s safer to lay it all out now. Hopefully. 

He takes a deep breath, wraps his arms around himself and tucks his knees closer to his chest. “I guess I was just thinking about what you said. About feeling safe and whole.” Mary sits up straighter, nods her head encouraging him to go on. 

Suddenly FP’s head feels like it’s swimming. Years worth of thoughts and feelings he’s never allowed himself to dwell on suddenly fight for who gets to come out first. Things he’s buried so far deep he was sure they’d never see the light of day. There’s still a part of him too afraid to think about them. The same part that’s always looking over his shoulder for the next blow, even when rationality tells him he’s too old to fear something like his _father_.

“Hey,” Mary says, voice soothing as her hand reaches out to find FP’s, giving it a reassuring squeeze. She can see him silently spiraling already. “It’s just me. You’re okay.”

FP can feel the heat prickling behind his eyes as he looks to her. He swallows down the lump in his throat, barely manages to get out “I think I had that. With-” His voice catches, effectively cutting him off because he doesn’t think he can finish that thought without completely unraveling.

Fortunately Mary’s in tune enough to finish it for him. “Fred.” It’s not a surprising revelation to her. If anything, the surprising bit is that it’s taken this long for FP to get it out.

FP doesn’t say anything. Just holds tighter to Fred’s jacket like some sort of security blanket. Almost feeling like a second skin.

“Is that why you haven’t gone to visit him?” She’s asked him several times. Eventually stopped when she realized there was a reason he kept making up excuses for why he couldn’t. _Wouldn’t_.

“I don’t know,” FP says with a halfhearted shrug of his shoulders. “I guess. Maybe? Yeah. It just… felt too hard. Still does.”

He hadn’t been able to explain it, even to himself. FP was no stranger to loss, had been around it his whole life. But this one had felt different. Like he was losing something he didn’t even know he had. Or could have. Or wanted. 

It hits him now, though. Like a fucking bus. He thinks about Mary and _Brooke_ and how they get to just _be_. And he’s happy for them, for Mary. Would never begrudge her that. But he’s also insanely, _stupidly_ jealous of her. That she doesn’t have the hang-ups he does. That she figured out who she was and is unapologetic about it. That she found someone to love her back and won’t mess it up because she’s not _him_. Doesn’t taint everything she touches like he does.

This _thing_ that’s been itching just under the surface for years feels like it’s finally breaking free, and he thinks there should be a relief in that. And maybe there is, somewhere. But he also feels more lost than he ever has.

There’s water dripping onto his jeans, small dark little patches forming in the denim, and it’s only then that FP realizes he’s crying. He wipes at his face like it’s not a big deal, like he’s just being _dramatic_ and there’s no cause for alarm.

Mary’s not buying it, though. She scoots over to him with a “Woah, hey, come here.” Pulls him into her arms at an awkward angle because they’re still in a _tub_ , and FP kind of wants to laugh about it, thinks maybe he actually does manage to choke out something similar to it that gets broken up by a sob. Maybe trying to do this high wasn’t the best move after all.

Mary tries working out a more comfortable position. Tries tucking a leg under FP’s. Over. Tries pulling his head down to rest against her chest or shoulder or _something_ but falls short every time. Her limbs feel too light to gain any real control of, and eventually the two just give up and burst into a fit of giggles. Finally, Mary gets the bright idea to just sit beside FP and drape her arm over his shoulders, pulling him in to her side. “There we go,” she says, all out of breath. “Knew we’d get there eventually.” 

FP laughs wetly into her shoulder. “God. I did not see myself at 44 crying in a bathtub about being a queer.” There’s something freeing about saying the word out loud, _laughing about it_ , after years of his father’s hateful tone being embedded in his memory. Like he’s just now getting out from under him.

“I don’t know. I think that feels pretty on brand for you,” teases Mary, giving FP’s shoulder a squeeze. He gives her a look in return, squinting his eyes in mock offense before they both start laughing.

It’s not long before he’s lost in his own thoughts again, trying to find a voice for everything he’s feeling. “Is it weird that I feel like I missed out on something? Like there’s a piece of me I’m never gonna get back?”

Mary exhales out a long breath. They’re broaching something far deeper than anything she had planned on today. Still, she settles on “No. I don’t think so.”

“I just feel like I missed my chance, you know?”

“At being _gay_?” Mary’s voice comes out more incredulous than she intended. She’ll blame it on the weed. “There’s not a time limit on it, FP.”

FP sighs. “I _know_ that. It just seems kind of pointless now when the person I want to be with is gone.”

“That’s a little dark, don’t you think?”

“Have you met me?”

“Yes, I have. And that’s why I’m not about to let you sit here getting all mopey and dopey like you usually do!”

“I do not get _mopey and dopey_.” FP fires back, arms crossed over his chest like a defiant toddler. Mary raises an eyebrow at him like she wants to challenge that, but he doesn’t give her the chance to speak. He doesn’t need to hear what he already knows. “No one’s gonna live up to Fred anyway, so why bother? Is all I’m saying.”

“Well of course no one’s gonna live up to Fred!” She laughs. “But that shouldn’t be the point.” She grabs hold of his shoulders, sways him side to side as she does the same. “There’s a whole big gay world out there, FP. You owe it to yourself to explore it. To find that missing piece.”

Honestly, FP’s kind of too in awe of this version of Mary to come back with any of his usual snide remarks. He’s gone all wide-eyed looking at her, like she’s an entirely different person. “You’re very peppy when you’re stoned, do you know that?”

Mary just smiles, shrugging her shoulders. “Peppy or not, my point still stands. And I know Fred would agree with me.”

“That’s- That’s not fair.”

“Doesn’t matter if it’s fair. I’m right.” She loops her arm through FP’s, scooting low enough so she can comfortably rest her head against his. “Fred would want you to be happy, not stuck in the proverbial closet.”

“I just came out. Is that not enough?” He feels like he’s at least _trying_ to put up a fight, make a case for himself. But it’s falling short somehow. Can’t seem to put any real heat behind his words. He doesn’t know if it’s the high or if it’s because it’s Mary he’s arguing with. No one ever really has a fair chance with her, even if they’re right.

“For other people, yes. For you?” She jabs at his chest with her free hand. “No. You don’t do things quietly, FP. It’s not in your nature.”

And fine, maybe that’s true of the old FP. But people changed all the time, didn’t they? Maybe he had, too.

“No, you haven’t.” Mary says from where she’s slouched beside him. 

It scares the shit out of FP, his eyes going wide as he sits up and looks down at her. “Did you just read my mind?”

Mary snorts out a laugh. “No, doofus. You said it out loud.”

He visibly relaxes, hand flying up to his chest. “Oh thank fuck. You’re scary enough without superpowers.

Mary nudges his ribs the best she can from her angle. Fortunately for FP there’s not too much power behind it, Mary’s body having gone a little slack where she rests beside him. Her eyes are feeling a little droopy. She’s not exactly sleepy, but it’s definitely the most relaxed she’s been all day. All week. All year.

FP finds himself relaxing, too. The scariest thing he’s ever done, over just like that. With no consequence. He should focus on that, the _good_ of it. The _what ifs_ and _could have beens_ are still there, probably always will be, but for once he finds himself not wanting to bog the moment down with them.

“So, this has gotta be weird, right?” FP smirks. “Me crying about being in love with your dead ex-husband?”

Mary chuckles, because she can find the humor in it now, but more importantly so can FP, and she knows what a big deal that is. “My son got attacked by a bear, FP. This is the most normal conversation I’ve had in ages.”

FP laughs something hearty, straight from his belly, as he scrubs his hand over his face. “God, our lives are fucked.”

Mary smiles softly as she hums her agreeance. 

She falls silent shortly after. FP thinks maybe she’s fallen asleep until he hears her quietly mutter, “You know, it’s gonna be okay.”

FP’s face scrunches in confusion. Wonders if there was some part of the conversation he missed. “What is?”

“Everything.” Mary smiles, eyes closed and head lolling on his shoulder, like she’s in on some sort of secret FP isn’t. Maybe she is. FP always seems to be the last to know anything.

Nevertheless, he hopes she’s right. He doesn’t think he can survive anything worse than what he’s already gone through. Doesn’t think there even _is_ an _anything worse_. The clouds are welcome to open up any fucking time now, really.

“You wanna go raid the fridge before Archie comes home?” Mary’s voice breaks through his thoughts, and this time when he looks at her her eyes are open and shining with just enough mischief.

FP laughs, already scrambling to get out of the tub. It’s not the silver lining he’d been expecting, but far be it for him to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos much appreciated. also i maybe have a sequel in mind for this... so if thats something anyones interested in let a bitch know. cant believe skeets leaving before i get any fp and mary bro time the homophobia never ends on this show


End file.
